Chapter Text
A comedy mask reduced to smithereens met its seemingly imminent fate, soon accompanied by rhythmic clacks of tears falling to the ground with it, like a melody, one he composed especially for her; a present wrapped in a neat bow cut from the very ribbons she was made of. He didn’t believe her to be deserving of receiving a ‘prize’ that wouldn’t take from her as well. An inherently altruistic act turned selfish in typical Jax fashion.
It’s quite ironic on his part, really.
Perhaps even hypocritical.
Breaking another’s mask, while proving its fragility, wouldn’t ever prove his to be unbreakable.
Dehumanizing everyone around him wouldn’t make the bastard feel any less disgustingly human.
Regardless of his usual nature, she felt a change in the pattern. The clinks of tears seemed to overlap with each other, like multiple falling at once. Well, that couldn’t be right. Unless…
He ran off before she could ask any questions, leaving a very confused-looking Gangle staring at the remnants of her broken mask while trying to steal glances at the direction she believed he went. Her search wasn’t successful, leading her to shrug to herself and go to Zooble’s room, abandoning what used to be her mask, tears temporarily forgotten; she needed to hear what they had to say.
⋆.˚ ────୨ৎ──── ⋆.˚
She couldn’t exactly knock, ribbons for hands and all, so they had a code: she’d gently jostle the doorknob so her friend recognized her. Today was no different; moments after the unmistakable sound reached Zooble’s ’ears’ (do ear holes count?), commotion could be heard from inside the room, like someone getting up from a chair, followed by the clacks and squeaks of plastic on the linoleum floor — Gangle could usually tell what parts they had on that day based on the sounds they made while walking. That day, their right leg sounded like their hook-like part, making a distinctive clacking sound. Their purple leg with a boot made a squeaky sound, leading her to believe that was their pick for the left leg. She vaguely remembered mentioning she found those parts cool specifically. She failed to make the connection. Sure, she had great attention to detail, but when it came to romantic feelings, she was at a loss. — and finally, the click of a key and the latch of a door.
The abstract emerged from their room, leaning on their doorframe. Their pupils looked…bigger. Their mismatched eyes crinkled at the corners like their equivalent of a smile without a mouth. Gangle didn’t quite realize the extent of the effect she had on them, bless her imaginary heart.
“Hey, Gangle.”, They addressed her warmly, making her non-existent insides suddenly feel like they’d been turned to goo, despite the simple nature of their greeting. She didn’t quite understand such a feeling, — melting insides have no right to feel this pleasant — it felt…a kind of weird she couldn’t quite name.
Unfamiliarity is dangerous, especially when considering she didn’t even know to navigate regular feelings she experienced daily, much less…whatever this was. She didn’t even realize how much she’d curled in on herself before Zooble’s gruff and frankly unsubtle voice cut through the silence.
“Hey. You okay? You look like [HISS]. Jax break your comedy mask again?”
The masked character suddenly spoke, breaking out of her previous spiral, her squeaky, high-pitched voice heavily contrasting the rasp of her friend’s. She hated worrying them, even after she’d been thoroughly reassured of them not minding at all.
“Yeah, but I’m okay. I just…wanted to talk, if that’s okay? If you’re busy, I can-”
“It’s alright, just come in.”
A small smile appeared on her tragedy mask, her tears temporarily forgotten as she entered their room, being greeted by mirrors, colourful decorations and a half-finished sculpture, seemingly female. It was an environment she’d grown accustomed to, its never-changing nature providing Gangle a rare sense of safety and ease.
⋆.˚ ────୨ৎ──── ⋆.˚
This was bad. Did she see him cry? God, he sure hoped not. That’d be…he couldn’t show weakness. What the hell even was that? Ribbit would know how to fix…whatever this was. He didn’t even realize how much he relied on them to keep himself tethered until it was too late. They felt like every sappy cliché merged into one amazing person.
She’d hate seeing him now, wouldn’t she?
He pointedly avoided pondering it further while he walked to his room, quietly sniffling.
⋆.˚ ────୨ৎ──── ⋆.˚
“Okay, let me get this straight…Jax, the resident [SQUEAK]hole that once non-ironically referred to himself as an “alpha male”, was…crying.”, Zooble inquired from their spot, sketching what looked to be a phoenix tattoo.
Gangle nodded meekly from her own spot across from them, her sketch resembling two familiar-looking anime girls Zooble couldn’t quite put their finger on. They seemed to be…making out passionately. That did not help Zooble’s current predicament, but they did their best to brush it aside. Either Gangle was clueless or uninterested in anything beyond a platonic relationship. Their bets were mostly on the latter, but they couldn’t help but hope, at least a little.
Suddenly, Zooble’s scribbles on the page paused. They seemed pensive, like they were piecing together a puzzle, as they tapped their pencil on the side of their triangle head. Gangle was too shy to admit it out loud, but the way their antennae twitched when they were deep in thought was adorable. She’d even drawn it a few times.
“So…you wanna use that as blackmail material or something?”
“What? No!”
“Why the [BOINK] not? He does it to you all the time!”
“I’m worried about him, Zooble.”
“You-”, if they had a nose, they’d be pinching the bridge of it. “That’s [BOINK]ing adorable, but also really [BOINK]ing stupid. He’s been nothing but a jack[SQUEAK] to you the entire time I’ve known you and who knows how long before that…why?”
That was a question she wished she could answer herself. Why did she care? What did she see…in…him…oh my God.
“Zooble.”
They were caught off-guard by the sudden solemn tone to her voice, heavily contrasting her usual meek squeaks.
“...The last time you sounded like that, you went bat[HISS] insane with a Tommy gun. Let me at least get a camera this time.”
“Wha- no, I think he’s…like me.”
“Like…you?”
She looked away and started frantically scribbling again. After a few seconds of awkward silence, sans Gangle working on her yuri masterpiece, it suddenly clicked, or at least…seemed to, until they opened their non-existent mouth.
“...Oh. Damn, didn’t know he swung both ways. Guess it was kinda obvious, but y’know, with the whole “fragile masculinity” thing…”
Gangle sighed, pausing her drawing.
“Zooble, I think he’s autistic.”
“OH!” They cleared their throat. “Uh…elaborate.”
She resumes her work on her sketch, so enthralled by it she forgot about eye contact. It was quite a common occurrence, so her friend had learned not to take it personally.
“Well, did you ever notice the pupil thing?”
“What pupil thing?”
“When he’s putting on a persona, his pupils dilate.”
“So? Isn’t that his whole thing?”
“I don’t think it’s just a ‘thing’. Sure, he takes pride in it, but I think he bullies me more specifically because I don’t really do that.”
“Don’t do what? Being an [SQUEAK] all the [BOINK]ing time?”
“That too, but I also don’t really mask that much.”
“Gangle…you wear a mask all the time.”
“Yeah, but mostly, I do it literally. He does it…metaphorically.”
“...Oh. So…how does that work?”
“He’s basically micromanaging his emotions so he doesn’t show a single sign of weakness. Including…”
…What he perceived as weakness, even if most of the cast, Gangle included, would’ve most likely sympathized had he not taken the ‘being an asshole about it’ route. Sure, his issues went deeper than that, she was naive for being empathetic about it, but she wasn’t stupid. Still…she was grateful for her support system. Maybe he’d be a little less terrible with her help, if he’d even accept it, that is. One could only hope.
“...Right. But how do you know that if he, y’know, hides it like you’re saying?”
The pile of ribbons shrugs as she declares smugly, still not looking up from her drawing: “He isn’t nearly as subtle as he thinks he is...”
“Go on…” It wasn’t quite clear if they were actually curious, concerned or wanted blackmail material. Maybe a mix of the three.
“For one, he kinda seems…uncomfortable when he walks, sometimes. He always makes his voice extra loud when he notices I saw it, but he also flinches at loud noises sometimes? It’s confusing.”
“Maybe he’s just being obnoxious as usual.”
“It’s subtle, but the difference’s there.”
They sighed, clearly not buying it, still. “Alright, sure…what else did you notice?”
“Y’know the way he reacted to the maid dress thing?”
“Heh, how could I forget. That was [BOINK]ing comedy gold.”
“Yeah, well…I was thinking…there’s more to it.”
“...How? Sure, I’d never seen him THAT [PSSS]y, but that’s just him being a little [HISS] on purpose…isn’t it?”
“I dunno, his pupils went all small. He seemed genuinely upset, Zooble.”
The abstract scoffed, incredulous as ever. “Jax? Being genuine? Yeah, right. Look, Gangle, I know you’re trying to see the best in him, but…sometimes there’s just nothing good there.”
Gangle paused. Sure, they were partially right, but…that’s what he wanted them to see, right? A jackass with nothing more to him. The comic relief, the ‘funny one’ or whatever. Maybe she’d ‘reevaluate’ differently this time. Revenge was no fun if he was just plain miserable, or at least that’s how she justified feeling empathetic towards the guy who made her life a living hell on a daily basis. This was Jax they were talking about. He was comparable to a feral animal you’d have to coax into accepting even a pet or two; he clearly took pride in ‘not needing anyone’, however…she couldn’t help but remember a time when things were…a bit different. He seemed happier. His jabs seemed less cruel, his words felt less sharp. She wondered what could’ve possibly happened. Sure, she knew of Ribbit’s abstraction, it happened a few months — nearly a year — into her stay at what she’d come to know as her new home. She knew they were close, but did her abstraction affect him that much?
⋆.˚ ────୨ৎ──── ⋆.˚
Ribbit heard a characteristic knock on her door. They’d come to recognize when it was Jax: his knocks were always hesitant, unsure. She knew he struggled with asking for help; today would certainly be no different. He had her key, they assumed that’d help with his hesitance, but nope. He still acted like she’d ever deny him comfort, even when she’d shown time and time again she didn’t mind.
“Come in!”, her bubbly voice answered.
A bout of silence. Like clockwork, the click of a key and the latch of a door reached her earshot and a miserable-looking Jax walked in, making her get up from her chair. His ears were down, his pupils were pinpricks and he was curling in on himself like he wanted to disappear.
“Oh, dear…c’mere.”
He awkwardly scrambled to get the door closed, still not saying a word. After he was sure it was locked, he practically collapsed into Ribbit’s embrace. For being the older one, he sure seemed small at that moment. It broke their — probably metaphorical — heart.
“‘S alright, bun. Wanna sleep over tonight?” She felt a nod against the crook of her neck. “Mm, can’t talk today, eh? That’s okay, I talk enough for both of us.” They felt a weak huff of a laugh brush against her neck, lightly jostling her bowtie. She laughed in kind and led him to the bed, leading his head into its usual spot on their chest.
They were being truthful in every reassurance of her not minding offering comfort. His fur was soft and the repetitive motion of her hand running through it seemed to calm him; a win-win. It seemed almost self-indulgent, considering how much she enjoyed it. Hell, maybe it was just as much for her as it was for him.
She hummed a random off-key tune, seemingly unable to keep quiet. Her hand that wasn’t in-between his ears kept moving incessantly like she wasn’t quite sure where to put it. It moved from fidgeting with his overall strap to rubbing his back. Despite her movement’s restless nature, they still followed a pattern without her realizing. He focused on that.
“Hey, uhm…you don’t mind if I talk a lot, right? I know you need quiet time sometimes but I’m kinda…terrible at that.”, they sheepishly inquired.
He simply shook his head ‘no’, leaning into her hand.
“Heh, you just want pets, huh? You’re a simpler person than you make yourself out to be, tough guy.”
He scoffed, but didn’t protest further. Her brows furrowed.
“Sorry, forgot you can’t, uh…tell me to [BOINK] off right now.”
He chuckled — the sound reverberating through her chest where his head still lay — and raised his hand, revealing a censor bar.
“Hey, not nice.”, she scolded playfully. “But…I stand corrected. You can tell me to [BOINK] off while nonverbal.”
He retracted his hand and nodded against their chest, nuzzling into it adorably, making her have to bite back a coo at how cute he was unintentionally being; they knew he wouldn’t take it well. She suddenly seemed to remember something, making one of his ears perk up at the sound of her voice.
“I have…a gift for ya. Close your eyes and hold out your hand, no flipping me off this time.”
He quirked a brow, but obliged with another weak chuckle. They shifted, grabbing something from her bedside table and placing it on his outstretched hand.
“Open ‘em.”
He once again did as she requested and the sight of her gift nearly made him cry…okay, maybe he was crying a little.
“Jeez, is it that terrible?”
He flipped through the green and pink communication cards — his favourite colours — until he found “no” and held it up to them, making her face light up with a smile. Her smile widened when he flipped to “thank you” and held it up in the same manner. Their hand between his ears gently ruffled the fur there, an act he would’ve considered condescending if it hadn’t come from the only person he felt truly understood him.
“You’re welcome, bun.”
⋆.˚ ────୨ৎ──── ⋆.˚
The sound of her voice reverberated in his ears like a broken record, ironic since he felt his mind was broken itself. He flipped through the cards as he’d done countless times before — he knew their order like the back of his hand by now — until he found “I missed you”.
Suddenly, the room felt too quiet and too loud all at once. The ground felt like needles digging into the shoeless soles of his paws, damn Caine for making him permanently barefoot. The light felt both too bright and too dim. He was breathing too much and not enough simultaneously. Tears fell freely like he could baptize the precious present from his late sib-friend with them.
Suddenly, he heard the jostling of a door handle which he soon identified as his own. It seemed almost tentative in its nature. Who the hell could that be?
He hid the communication cards in their usual safe place — underneath his pillow in a box wrapped in a bright red ribbon — and rubbed at his eyes in a futile attempt to conceal the remnants of his impromptu crying session; his eyes were still red-rimmed, even a blind person could tell he’d been crying. Either way, he still feigned nonchalance as he unlocked the door.
Much to his surprise, instead of a person, he was met with a rolled-up piece of paper tied to a small box with a maroon ribbon. It seemed worn, but he sensed the gesture was heartfelt. Whoever it was left a note; it read: “Truce? - Gangle” in squiggly hand-writing, delicate as silk. He scoffed. Yeah right.
Despite his petulance, he took the peace offering to his room and locked the door behind himself. He laid it on the bed and unwrapped it with uncharacteristic care. He sobbed all over again when he saw it: a drawing of him and Ribbit. He seemed happier and they…damn it, he had to give it to her; She captured their energy perfectly. It almost felt like they were still here. He’d never admit that to her face, of course, but he supposed it didn’t really matter. He appreciated the sentiment more than could be ever put into words — and he’d never been good with those anyway. He carefully hung the drawing up on the empty space next to his polaroid wall.
He wiped at his eyes again with a pathetic sniffle, internally cursing himself for being so weak, until he realized the box was left unopened, forgotten on the bed nearby. He tentatively picked up and opened the box and was met with…earplugs. Huh.
He put them on, finding they fit surprisingly well and drowned out the incessant noise. He nearly started crying again from sheer relief. As he sat against the headboard and began rocking back and forth, the thought on the forefront of his mind — despite his lack of understanding on how exactly she knew of his needs or why she even bothered — was “Maybe she isn’t so bad”. Just maybe, but ‘maybe’ was a start; Perhaps that was what mattered.